


Domino Motion (Jumpstart)

by lakesandquarries



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baby Blasters, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:05:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakesandquarries/pseuds/lakesandquarries
Summary: Grillby's just trying to run his restaurant, when something starts looting his trash. When he finds the people responsible, his life takes a turn he never expected.If this fic looks familiar, there's a reason - this is a rewrite of my fic Domino Motion, keeping most of the same plot, with a few changes. Reading the original DM is not required to understand this.





	Domino Motion (Jumpstart)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Domino Motion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5379959) by [lakesandquarries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakesandquarries/pseuds/lakesandquarries). 



It starts with ripped up trash bags.

 

It's a perfectly lovely Snowdin morning, until Grillby goes out back to take out the trash and finds his dumpster knocked over. Not just knocked over, he discovers as he inspects it, broken into. The lid has been nearly ripped off its hinges, and the bags inside look like they’ve been sliced open by something with claws. The trash is spilling out into the snow, Snowdin’s constant wind picking some of the lighter items up and carrying them away.

 

Grillby sighs. He’s going to have to open late today.

 

He leaves the dumpster on its side, focusing more on clearing away the worst of the mess. As he cleans, though, he becomes more and more concerned. There are  _ teeth marks  _ on some of the garbage, wrappers with bites taken out of them, napkins that have been chewed on.

 

Something is  _ eating _ his garbage.

 

When he opens - an hour later than usual - he asks his customers if they’ve seen anything strange. One of the Royal Guards, Great Dog, says he smelled a cat the other night. Another customer, the bunny who runs the inn, says she thought she saw a child the other day.

 

Neither of these are capable of knocking over a 350 pound dumpster, though, so Grillby dismisses it. He asks Great Dog to help him right the dumpster and tries to forget about it.

 

For two days, life returns to normal. Then, on the third day, he finds the dumpster on its side again, even more damaged than last time. A massive dent, almost a hole, charred and smoking, stares at him. 

 

The next day, it’s on its side again. That night Grillby tries to tie a chain around it, so that whatever’s knocking it over won’t bother, but in the morning the chain’s been destroyed.

 

Not broken, not damaged, destroyed. There’s a chunk missing, including the lock, like it’s been…Grillby doesn’t have a word to describe the damage. It’s almost like it’s been burned - the chains around where the lock once was are charred, as is the dumpster - but there’s no fire he knows of that could do this _. _ The lock is nowhere to be seen, unless it’s the pile of ash in the snow.

 

Which, now that Grillby thinks about it, it might be.

 

Whatever is doing this, it’s very strong, and very smart. Previously, he’d assumed it was some kind of wild animal, but he doesn’t know any animal capable of destroying a chain like that, or an animal that would be able to destroy something so precisely and completely. 

 

Staring at the remains of the chain, he makes up his mind.

 

That night he doesn’t close the restaurant as usual. Instead, he prepares a plate of food - burger, fries, ketchup, and a cup of water on the side. Then he goes back inside, sits down, and waits.

 

This thing is smart. It’s better if he tries and befriend it, maybe stop it from destroying his trash, then accidentally run into it late one night. He sits down next to the window with a book.

 

In between glances at the window, he tries to read, but finds he can’t focus on the words. What if the creature doesn’t come tonight? What if he falls asleep? What if-

 

He hears rustling. It's not loud, but in the silence of late night, it's deafening. Grillby abandons his chair, pressing his face to the window to get a better look.

 

There’s  _ two _ creatures, small and skeletal. Grillby’s seen human skeletons before, and they resemble those, with all the holes and gaps one would expect to see, but...different. Off, somehow. Less like someone took a human and took away everything but the skeleton, more like someone took a human and turned it to bone. The eyes, as well - they’re something just a touch unsettling about them. They’re deep, dark, twin black voids with white lights for pupils.

 

The larger has the smaller tied to their back with a scrap of bright red fabric that might be a scarf. Both are dressed in loose, lumpy, shapeless cloth that could generously be described as a dress, and the larger is wearing what seems like a hoodie. The smaller looks to have a coat as well, but it’s made mostly of holes. 

 

Grillby stares. For a moment he’s frozen, completely stunned by what he’s seeing. They’re far from the strangest monsters he’s seen, yes, but…they’re both so  _ small. _

 

_ This _ is what’s been knocking over his giant, 350 pound dumpster? These little skeletons that can’t be more than 4 feet tall?

 

The larger looks at the food, then turns their head to nudge the smaller. Grillby can’t hear them, but it looks like they’re having some kind of conversation. The smaller is undoing the knot holding them to the larger one, wrapping the scarf around their own neck before darting over to the food and starting to eat. After another moment of hesitation, the larger joins them. The plate’s empty in moments.

 

Slowly, quietly, Grillby stands. He reaches a hand toward the door. 

 

He hesitates.

 

He doesn’t want to scare them, after all. And…he hates to think it, but they could be dangerous. The small size means nothing when he considers the damage but they’ve done.

 

But…he needs to know more. Maybe there’s a way he can help them, or at least get them to stop knocking his dumpster over. More than that, he just wants to  _ understand.  _ And somewhere, under that need for understanding - he thinks he already might.

 

He turns the handle as slowly as he can and pushes the door open. 

 

The skeletons don’t seem to notice him, busy looking around as though more food might be hiding under the snow. But the door clicks when it shuts, and that gets their attention. Faster than Grillby can process it, the larger is standing in front of the smaller protectively, the white lights in their eyes suddenly a bright blue, making a hissing noise.

 

It’s a  _ child _ , Grillby realizes. Ten at the oldest, maybe, although they look closer to eight. They’re so  _ small,  _ it’s hard to tell. 

 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Grillby says, almost whispering. “I just came to offer you more food.”

 

The hissing stops. The larger tilts their head.

 

“What do you want?” they ask, narrowing their eyes. The more Grillby looks, the less he understands, his earlier almost grasp of the situation slipping. The child is thin, almost gaunt. There’s bags under their eyes, deep, despite them being a skeleton. They look tired and cold and scared and  _ angry _ , and Grillby has no idea what’s happening anymore.

 

They take Grillby’s silence as a challenge. “I said, what do you want?” they repeat, tiny hands curling into fists. 

 

“I just wanted to know what was knocking over my dumpsters,” Grillby says, and the child tenses.

 

“I - we can stop,” they say, hunching their shoulders up, shifting from anger to fear so quickly Grillby feels dizzy. “I promise, we’ll just - we’ll go and find somewhere else, I’m sorry.”

 

Grillby backpedals. He hadn’t meant to scare them. “No, no, it’s alright. I just thought you might want food that isn’t garbage?”

 

The child now just looks confused. The smaller pokes their head out from behind the larger and makes a whining noise, tugging on their companion’s sleeve. “Can we?”

 

“No,” the child says, turning to the smaller. “We don’t know anything about this guy!”

 

The smaller sticks out their tongue, then marches up to Grillby.

 

“You’re nice, right?” they ask, looking at Grillby right where his eyes would be.

 

“I try to be,” Grillby says, and they smile, turning back to the larger. 

 

“See?”

 

“He could be lying,” the larger mutters.

 

“I only want to help,” Grillby says. 

 

“Why should we trust you?” the child asks. “How do I know you won’t hurt us?” There’s a familiar look in their eyes, a look Grillby recognizes more than he’s comfortable. There’s an anger there, a deep hurt, and a resolution to never let that hurt happen again. It’s painful to see in someone so small.

 

“Well,” Grillby says, and then stops. Considers. “You don’t. All I can do is promise you that I do not intend you any harm. If that is not enough, I understand. But…It’s cold outside, and it’s warm inside.”

 

“Skeletons don’t get cold,” they inform him, but Grillby can tell they’re repressing their shivers.. 

 

“Even so. A real meal might help you.”

 

The larger one looks stricken, grabbing the smaller skeleton’s hand and pulling them close, having a frantic whispered conversation Grillby only captures fragments of. 

 

“No -”

 

“But -”

 

“We  _ can’t,  _ he -”

 

“But I'm  _ hungry, _ ” the smaller whines. “Please?” They look at the larger, eyes wide, desperate. 

 

“...Fine,” the larger - their guardian? - relents. The smaller hugs them and darts in, but they stay behind. They turn to Grillby, eyes hard. “We'll come in. But if you do anything, I'll-” they hesitate, looking down at the ground, shutting their eyes tight, clenching their fists, taking a deep breath. Preparing for something. They look back up. “If you hurt me, or my brother,” they say, slow and deliberate, “I'll hurt you.”

 

The words are a clear threat, but Grillby doesn't feel especially threatened. He doesn’t think they’re lying - there’s no doubt in his mind that if he makes any threatening movements towards either child the larger won’t hesitate to attack, and there's even less doubt that this child could hurt him if they wanted to. But their tone, the way they're looking at him - this isn't somebody that  _ wants _ to hurt him. There's no cruelty in their voice. Just fear. 

 

So he nods, says “Okay,” and opens the door. They stare at him a moment longer, then walk in, giving Grillby a last confused glance before joining their brother in a booth. 

 

“What would you like?” he asks, walking over to the two. He leaves the door open. The larger tilts their head, looking even more confused. 

 

“Anything?” they say, glancing at the smaller, who nods. 

 

“I liked the little crunchy sticks,” he adds, which takes Grillby a moment. 

 

“The fries?”

 

He nods. Grillby nods back, turning back to his grill and fryer. It doesn't take long for him to prepare food, so he heaps it onto the plates, until the dish underneath might as well not exist. He also gets them two cups of milk - milk is good for bones, right? 

 

The two children seem to like it. Their eyes go wide when they see the food and they eat quickly, like they expect it to be taken away from them any second. Grillby sits down across from them. Not watching them, but just...there. 

 

“Why're you watching us?” the larger asks. Okay, so, maybe he is watching them, a little, but who can blame him?

 

“Do you have names?” Grillby asks. The small one tenses, looking at the larger nervously. 

 

“We do,” the larger says, nudging him. “Remember?”

 

“Oh yeah,” the smaller says, turning to Grillby and beaming at him. “My name’s Papyrus, and this is my brother, Sans!” 

 

“My name is Grillby. It's nice to meet you,” Grillby says, and Papyrus’ smile could light the whole underground. 

 

There's a faint smile on Sans’s face, as he watches Papyrus. When he turns back to Grillby, the smile is gone, replaced with suspicion. He’s sad to see it gone. 

 

“Okay, we ate your food. What do you want now?”

 

“Nothing,” Grillby says, confusion leaking from his voice. “There's nothing I want from you two.” He glances out the window, notes the snow and wind and the raggedy clothing of the children, and asks, “Do you have somewhere to go?”

 

“Yeah,” Sans says, looking at the table. 

 

“Well - in case you don’t want to go to...wherever you’re staying, you're welcome to stay here,” Grillby says, and Sans looks up so fast Grillby gets whiplash. 

 

“No,” he says, almost frantic, “no, it's fine, we're  _ fine. _ Right, bro?” He looks at Papyrus, who frowns. 

 

“Well-”

 

Sans cuts off Papyrus, slapping a skeletal hand over his brothers mouth. “We're fine!” he says again, voice sharp and brittle. “We'll just go now, okay? You don't have worry about -  _ ow! _ ”

 

The last part is because Papyrus has bitten his brother’s hand. Sans pulls his hand away, shaking it, half-glaring at Papyrus. “ _ Ow, _ ” he repeats, rubbing his hand. 

 

“I wanna stay,” Papyrus whines. 

 

“...I'll be back in a moment,” Grillby says, standing. “I need to...clean.” He stands, going back to the kitchen, where he's just out of hearing range. Snippets of argument make their way to him, though. 

 

“It's not safe!” he hears. It’s Sans’s voice, and the response is inaudible. 

 

A few more inaudible replies back and forth, and then, Papyrus’ voice, saying “Can we come back?” and Sans’ voice, saying “Maybe.”

 

He hears them get up and walk, and when he peeks out of the kitchen, they're gone. 

 

Well. Now that he's done pretending to clean, he needs to actually clean. The boys have never been taught table manners, it seems; the table is a mess, but oddly devoid of crumbs. The napkins appear to have been used as chew toys, rather than used to wipe anything up. Regardless of what Sans had said, it's obvious these children are  _ not _ fine. 

 

With that being said, what can Grillby do about it? He has no idea how to help them, beyond offering food, and they seem reluctant to accept even that. He could call child services, but he doubts that the children would react well.

 

He looks out the window, at the dark sky and bright snow. He doesn't know how he's going to help them, or if they'll even accept his help. But if he doesn't try, who will?

**Author's Note:**

> today (12/8/17) marks two years since I first began writing DM. It took my life in an unexpected direction as well, leading to things both good and bad, but I'm eternally grateful for the reception it got.
> 
> A few months ago, I got the idea to try and rewrite DM - a second draft of sorts, to shore up the plot holes I accidentally opened and see how much my writing has progressed. My goal is to rewrite the whole thing, and have an actual ending, but....we'll see.
> 
> My tumblr is lakesandquarries.tumblr.com, if you're interested in seeing me liveblog my writing process, or just wanna talk to me for whatever reason.


End file.
